


I Never Said "I Do"

by Nichomen



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:09:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nichomen/pseuds/Nichomen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People had hangovers that lasted longer than those marriages, which Jason could only hope for  by tomorrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Said "I Do"

**Author's Note:**

> This is a version edited from the original I had posted ontumblr; it's got some minor alterations to the text, and at the moment is the same as what's on the original post on my tumblr. Reblogged versions of it vary in editing since I started editing after I first posted hahaha.

“Weddings” and “Jason Todd” were two things not often closely associated with each other. To add to the cliché, the only time the two words were found in the same sentence was when describing how the two could never be associated with one another, or in the countless variations of the following sentence: Jason Todd did not do weddings.

Regardless of probability, however, here he was, at a wedding dressed in someone else’s nicest suit (likely “borrowed” from Dick as the fitting was slightly too small and the blue slightly too blue, but Jason never would say,) wishing desperately for some maniac to crash through the monolithic glass stained windows of the chapel, guns blazing and threats screeching over the organ droning on in the background.

Unfortunately the best God could offer him in the house of Himself was a small sneeze three rows back, a few mumbled bless-you’s, and the faint sniffing from around the room’s teary-eyed onlookers deeply touched by this extravagant show of blissful matrimony. Ah yes, every year, one of Gotham’s finest couples would tie the knot in unnecessary luxurious fashion; hoping to outdo last year’s spectacle (and most likely personal rival) with a happy ending to the tale of the “love-story of the century.”

People had hangovers that lasted longer than those marriages, which Jason could only hope for by tomorrow. It was going to be a long night, from ceremony to reception; ultimate goal being to extract information from various wedding sponsors (how romantic, sponsors for your wedding) he suspected of also having business deals with the Black Mask connected to their company. It was enough big name people drunk at one party to make stepping foot into a wedding actually worth the trouble, and Jason wasn’t quite so bull-headed he’d pass up the opportunity.

 

But he came close.

 

The couple said their “I do’s,” exchanged their first kiss into marital bliss, and shuffled out of the room, the bride’s cream colored gown trailing behind her in heaps of fabric readjusted and untangled by her bridesmaids, and the room trickled empty to prepare for the beach-side reception that followed. Jason shuffled awkwardly amongst strangers, making conversation with some of the older women that passed by him.

“Oh, what a beautiful ceremony.”

“What did you think of the bridesmaid’s dresses?”

“Why, young man, you can’t tell me you don’t plan to tie the knot soon, not with that handsome face!”

He’d laugh (awkwardly) and respond (awkwardly) the best he could, a killer smile on his lips when one charming little woman snaked her weathered arm through his, matted lipstick and jovial twinkle in her eye, more life in her smile after seventy-five years in this god-forsaken city than Jason could ever have in himself.

“These things make me so sentimental, dear; would you grant this old-bag her one last wish of being seen arm-in-arm with the best looking boy in the room?”

This time his laugh was loud, sudden, and genuine.

“As you wish, my Queen.”

Outside the paparazzi was already in full swing, small groups swarming around the big name celebrities and some others currently caught up in personal scandals Jason could care less for. He let his brief love-affair lead him to her car, chauffeur waiting for her, before she unlinked their arms and said goodbye with a wink and a kiss. He never did get her name, nor she his, but he had a feeling he’d never forget that face; blissful, in her fancy yellow car, no strings of longing or regret trailing behind in cream colors. Her wave was light and bubbly without the weight of a ring, but when she had held his hand it was firm and sure.

For five minutes she loved him, and now she was gone.

He zig-zagged back the way he had come, avoiding large swarms that seemed to overlook his massive figure. He was still pretty dead, legally, face no longer associated with the Wayne legacy—but that didn’t mean his interests weren’t piqued when he heard the family name being muttered, whispered, and then yelled about a few feet ahead.

“Mister Wayne…”

“Excuse me, Mister Wayne?”

“Drake-Wayne!”

And there he was, just as advertised, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, alone and surrounded as if this had been his own wedding. Jason loomed behind the crowd, amused at the speed Tiny Tim managed to shoot his responses back, professional smile glued to his face. Bruce, Golden Boy, and the Baby-Brat were nowhere to be seen, which probably left Alfred the job of driving the limo around the corner.

“No, I’m sorry Bruce couldn’t be here to answer your questions, that’s really on his agenda and not mine. What? A Wayne family wedding? Well that would be the first I’ve ever heard of it!”

Tim’s laughter was strong and practiced, eaten up on camera like candy, licks of flashing light reflecting off his smile, along with his designer suit (Shiny new and black with hints of gold) and family name.

“Are you here with a date, Mister Wayne?”

“What of those rumors with you and the recent pop star…”

“Last month there were photos of you…”

“Please,” his voice was sharper this time, slightly higher, Jason picked up, and assertive. Like a spell, all lights stopped flashing, all questions desist.

“I really don’t think my love life is what’s important right now; are we forgetting the new and happy couple already? Let’s take a second to enjoy our friend’s vows!”

Some paparazzi aww’d and obliged, and some continued to pester Tim—regardless of their response he proceeded to move forward towards the limousine, followed by a trail of photographers. Jason stepped back, but as Tim emerged from the crowd, exposed, their eyes met briefly. Tim’s expression shifted, so subtly no one would give it a second guess; but Jason knew what he was saying.

_What are you doing here?_

With only a smirk as his response, Jason turned to leave for the Gotham Bay Hotel.

\-------------

Jason leaned forward against the railing of the balcony overlooking the ocean, distant Gotham lights twinkling along the opposite side of the bay. Outside the crowd was light and he didn’t have to hold a Champaign glass the right way, hell, he didn’t have to drink Champaign. It was more like a device to be used when someone approached him to chat and he didn’t feel like talking (this was often.) He wanted desperately to loosen his tie and belt, smell the gunpowder and smoke soaked into the earthy scent of his leather jacket, and not have the tight dress shoes chafe at his ankles--and it was this aggravation that dulled his senses from hearing someone approach him from behind.

 

“What are you doing here, Jason?”

Whispers followed Tim’s presence; it came with being a Wayne, apparently. He looked somewhat dull in the moonlit sky and shining city lights, as if she shadows touched and devoured him so easily. That, apparently, came with being a Bat.

“I could ask the same of you but I guess that’s pretty obvious, _Mister Wayne._ ”

Jason could see the frown hidden on Tim’s face, wanting to look friendly and carefree in the public eye. Anyone at any moment could snap a picture of the two. Tim came forward to lean against the railing with him, most likely to hide his face with a view of the sea.

“I’d really like to avoid trouble, Jason. I’ll leave you alone if you tell me, or just… assure me you’re not here to cause anything.”

Jason grunted, swirling the Champaign in his glass. His little innocent drinking trick probably wouldn’t work with Drake.

“That’s exactly why I’m here, Tim. To avoid trouble,” a breezy, hollow laugh, “and prevent it, of course.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, a suspicious, take-no-bullshit glance all Batkids adopted from their resident mother hen.

“Black Mask?”

“Who else.”

 

This time Tim’s expression softened, slightly less suspicious than his default Jason-expression. Thank God for progress.

“Oscar Lafayette is prime on my list. Found him but he was already drunk beyond a decent sentence.”

“That sack of shit? I don’t think he could spell drug-cartel, let alone orchestrate one. For someone who coasts on his parent’s achievements he sure ain’t got any ounce of modesty.”

Mindlessly, he swirled and dumped the remainder of his Champaign into the bay.

“Language, Jason.”

“He sure ‘doesn’t—‘ what the fuck do you care, short-stack?”

This time, Jason was a little too loud, causing some strangers and passerbys to turn their attention towards the two. Tim didn’t even attempt to hide the smile pulling at his lips; aggravating, just plain aggravating (that’s what Jason told himself.)

“I’m just trying to help with your aristocratic appearance, Mister Todd. Alfred would be pretty bummed by your performance.”

“Language, Asshole.”

And Tim’s smile morphed into a wicked smirk.

“Alfred would be 'ashamed,' _Asshole._ ”

The two stood in silence, this time a little less tense, listening to the music and rumble from dancing inside the building escalate. But the darkness outside was soothing, with so little to focus on but what they wanted to see.

“So… you enjoy the wedding?”

“Take a wild guess, Timbo.”

“I guess ‘no,” he sighed, face scrunching when the wind picked up , mussing up his hair that crossed into his face.

“So what, is this business or manners for you?”

“A little of both,” Tim turned, facing opposite of Jason, staring into the empty space between them and the Hotel. “Bruce is, well…Business trip. Dick too. Obviously not Damian.” Jason wanted to laugh at the little distaste in Tim’s tone as he mentioned the brat, but he didn’t. That would be way too familiar, gave them something to bond over. “So here I am, keeping the Wayne family name alive through parties and hefty checks, while taking care of a little… side business.”

“Black Mask?”

“Who else,” Tim hummed.

“Seriously though, Jason Todd at a wedding, I’d never dream it. I bet you were the kid that sighed super loud in the back and had to have his mom hush him up with a slap.”

The snort surprised them both, having come from Jason. Red bled into his cheeks and ears, faintly visible through the darkness.

“Yeah well fuck you too. Never been to one to be honest, hate the idea of these things. Never in my life have I even seen a happy marriage in Gotham.”

Tim was quiet, speculative, gaze on nothing as he pondered his own thoughts. As the silence continued Jason began to fidget, swirling his empty glass.

“It’s not like you’ve seen every marriage in Gotham, Jason.”

“And what, I’m guessing you were the peachy ring bearer or something, huh, Tiny-Bird?”

“Once,” he chirped.”Not that I’m much of a fan. But there’s always cake.”

Tim going to a wedding just for the cake was sort of laughable. Almost. Cream smeared across his tiny fox face. Jason forced himself to look disgusted at the thought.

“But I’m guessing you want me to withhold your invitation to my wedding?”

Jason laughed, loud, for the second time that night, again earning looks.

“Yes, please. If you do I’ll even send you a wedding gift. Toaster or embroidered towels? Your pick.”

Tim grinned too, something distinctly different from his media smile. It was all teeth and cheek with very little blue, blue eyes. It was kind of dorky looking, but who gives a fuck when you’re happy.

Before Tim got to pick, though, the doors of the hotel burst open with a loud whoop and holler, the bride and groom streaming out followed by their respective parties.

“Before our love birds take their first official dance, how about we get to what everyone really wants to see—the bouquet toss!”

The announcer was shrill and squirrely, devious smile on her face before speaking again.

“And for the gentlemen, we’ll be throwing in the garter as well.”

 

The audience “ooh-ed” at the scandalous event, some whistling, some clapping. The bride sat in a provided chair, leg hiked up against her new husband’s shoulder, grinning wild. His head disappeared beneath the fabric of her skirt, cheers erupting from the crowd when he emerged back again with the white-lace garter in teeth, spitting it out to place a triumphant kiss against the bride’s cheek.

“And now ladies and gentlemen, you know what they say… The lucky girl who catches the bouquet is enchanted to be the next bride; and boys… catching that garter could make you the lucky groom!”

Everyone laughed in good nature, even Tim, though Jason only grunted, arms cross. The bride turned, her back to the crowd and Tim and Jason, Husband following suit. They counted down, from three, then two, then one, before releasing both items into the air, screams ripping through the crowd and blind fury escalating—but when the rush ended the bouquet was nowhere to be seen in the gaggle of red-clad bridesmaids.

And no garter clutched in a bony fist.

The whole crowd turned in unison to see, huddled together in the back, Jason’s body halfway off the railing, arm outstretched with bouquet in hand, fallen petals in his hair and on his shoulders, eyes wide and bright, staring at the garter hanging loosely at Tim’s fingertips.

“Oh my God-“

“Oh my fucking Christ-“

“I guess we have our lucky couple, “ the damned announcer yelled-- Jason damned her, that made her damned--when the crowd roared with excitement, recognizing Tim but not Jason, flash photography flooding the open balcony with pictures of them, standing sheepishly before the crowd.

But Tim was laughing, something loud and ridiculous that Jason had never heard before, almost wheezing, tears brimming his eyes making them more blue, all while Jason sulked.

“I guess this means you kind of have to go to my wedding,” Tim sighed, catching breath, before turning towards Jason. He leaned in and hid his lips against Jason’s ear with one hand, garter looped around his wrist.

For five minutes, they were the couple in love.

“ I’d still like a toaster though.”

“I never said _‘I do._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I've had an Ao3 account for a while but never finished any fanfiction. Hopefully I will be able to write more!


End file.
